You know, i really love being in idaho. your ƒükkêd springs idaho. greatest town to live in. i promise. well kept secret. you will never know, i assure you.
anyway, in your ƒükkêd springs idaho, is were the great crowds are, you know. the best actually. you the know the ones. they are looking at you intently, with no expression, and then modestly applaud at the end.
i trust these people for some very strange unknown reason. i feel ok about keeping all of my shït in the back of my car, and have it unlocked in the parking lot. i also feel ok about staying at a motel in these places.
i have considered that they are under alien control, and that a martial in a space ship is hovering over my car and force field stealing my weed and porn mags. or that the government is outside looking through it, and this town is fake, and they are all actors. i mean, the alternative is rather harsh. and i am a really nice guy and all, but "where are my t shirts".
(scene moves outside, to people stealing t shirts out the back of cars)
great. this just makes my day. "working for a living" takes on another whole new meaning, as i think about the ledge again that the birds have been shitting on. yes, yes, "i dont think it can get any worse" seems to not be working.
i think back (visual screen display of random blurry images) of all the things that lead to this moment, and all that fills my head is movie titles, song lyrics, and who was the girl of the year for playboy for 10 years straight. wow.
you know these people. any song, or movie, they know (closes distance with mic) EVERYTHING about it? and after hearing only 5 minutes pf ta;l from them, you know everything about it as well, and no longer even need to watch the movie, listen to the song, or read the book?
these are the same people that are probally know saying 'yes we know, we have already heard this, and then proceed the cite where, when, etc.' i dont have a tv, and only keep up with events online, so excuse me for not being fresh. maybe there will come a point finally where no one talks anymore, for everything is known instantly, and then a full mutation can occur to the plastic bag human thing blob, that is no longer needed but for processors of shït.
Sanitary waste management. has a nice ring to it.
(people start running up to stage for t shirts)
hey hey hey, behave yourselves you civilized shït compactors. one at a time. im sorry you were in the bathroom when they were handed out.
(one woman come up to talk directly to the comedian)
yes, i suppose it could be a charity. yes. uh huh.
(Voice from the theater management booms loudly on crappy speakers)
ok fleas, back to your seats. by the way, when you were using the restroom, at the beginning, we lined the toilet seat with STD's, and yes, the government already knows, they were watching, using the cameras that are secretly installed in the building. That is all.
what the ƒück was that? the midget?
spooks these days you know?
not like the old days when you had to work for it. nope.
now days its because people are so board, that they must spy on others.
yeah. its true.
i mean, why else would anyone be so tired of themselves to focus on, that they would need to go outside of themselves because of that boredom.
i tell you what, not me, i could spent forever in here, and still be lost.
with this much found why be found? found equals (mic increase) BOOOORRRING.......snort....cocaine...
yeah man, thats it, nice pick me up off the floor.
(grins at someone near front) thanks for that during the break....
(cell phone rings)
So, you are not going home with me tonight? why not? oh, well, thats perfectly normal on the first date. yeah, and? oh, you dont like saddles? Isnt that merry go round in england? what? i have to go, yes, well i was going to talk to you further, but have "decided" i am in the middle of something. no! not that. but....ƒück you to, goodbye!
(grins sheepishly at crowd for a few seconds)
yes, well, at least this time nothing was damaged, and i have a alibi, even though it might be only one other person.
the prison guards dont count.
this is pathetic, i am having to hold up my own "laugh now" signs.
ok, seriously, you know, that its bad, whenever all the ashes in an ash trey look like a couple ounces of nuggish weed.
yeah, someone comes in and says "can i change your ashtray", and the next thing i know, the house is turning on its side.
never mind cartons, ill take a crate. the full flavor kill me picker upper that rides a horse, of course.
that makes me want to kill myself so bad, looking at that sexy man ride that horse. uh huh. that cowboy hat is to die for(puffs hard on cigarette.) oh wait, its supposed to be the other way for men, right. i just wish i could ride a horse and kill myself as good as he can, maybe the women will ride me more.
or how about the green minty flavor, that is sooooo "Kcooooool" and maybe if you smoke them you will get laid while drinking yourself at the bar. (waves at all the bar flies hanging out at the bar in the theater while making drunk sloshing noises with the mouth)
thats my crowd. you other scout comics out there know me when you see me doing the same, but dont think i am who you think i am. ƒükking perverts are what you are. comedic perverts whom fetish is stalking other comics. I know this because I am you, i am your father. Now I command you to forget everything you have heard for the next 450 days.
Ok, so, back to smoking, and the fact that smokers like killing themselves because it feels good.
it feeeeeeels good.
just like working out 5 times a day, for 3 hours a day, years on years end, and then having a heart attack and dying for it, feeeeeeels good. i hope we have understanding now, and that we are no threat to the trees.
(someone from crowd says) " you know how many African babies it took to make that cigarette?"
Hearing what I hear from virgin, there might have been about 10 million sperms in that cigarette, and you are worried about Africa, what happened to no child left behind?
ƒükking abortionist, using the outcasts are fertilizer to grow crops for the children, and look, this is what happened. Its all your fault Mrs. Brady.